Fifty Shades of Flannel Chapter 10

Christian and I stood in front of a magnificent building in New York's famed financial district.

I felt like a combination of Carrie Bradshaw, Hilary Clinton and Paula Abdul.

That is to say, as I stood ready to walk into our Lady Cork meeting with investment bankers, I felt sexy, capable and slightly drunk.

There are moments that could change your life and this was one of them. Who could have imagined me, Mrs. Steele, poised for entrepreneurial greatness?

I would be like the creator of Spanx but older. I would be like the founder of Mary Kay Cosmetics but younger and with a lot less facial plastic surgery. Plus also not exhumed because she might be dead.

No matter!

What had started out a few weeks ago as an unfortunate outing in my Lanz nightgown had shape-shifted into a real life Cinderella story starring me (and not Brandy in that awful 1997 TV movie version).

Christian indicated that I step through the heavy glass door (it was being held open) and I did so.

Minutes later, we were being led by an efficient young woman to a conference room.

The team will be right up. Can I get you anything?

I was about to ask for a Nutrigrain bar and an Advil, but Christian answered for both of us. Nothing, thanks. We're going to need a moment.

She nodded and left us. Christian turned to me.

Let me tell you how this will go. I will make the introductions, Wim and his people will make a few pleasantries and then I'll turn it over to you.

Me? Comfy flannel nightgown, pervert-thwarting me?

Wasn't he observant enough to realize by now that I'd be on Turbo Babble Pilot? This was Wall Street not Main Street. It wasn't even a cul-de-sac, what chance did I have presenting to a group of MBAs?

He looked pityingly at me.

You know the old advice for public speaking? He asked.

Pretend to choke and leave the room? I thought this was a decent guess.

No. Just imagine everyone is in their underwear. I've never needed to resort to it, but it might help you. He leaned back in his chair.

I doubted very highly that Christian did not spend most of every day imagining people in their underwear, but I felt it best to nod gratefully.

Four people came into the room.

Profiling is a dangerous game, I know, but this group seemed to have the mark of "Human Resources" on it: there was "Older White Guy," "Young Asian Woman," "Young Black Guy," and "Middle-Aged Indian Guy."

All the bases were covered. But I had a feeling "Older White Guy" was the only one who couldn't sue if he was fired.

Panic rose in me. I calmed myself by recalling an Oprah show where the self-help expert du jour (but not the one who got Oprah to lose 100lbs of fat and pull it in a toboggan) had advocated "Fake It 'Til You Make It."

It was my turn to fake and possibly, make it. Silence is often mistaken for great depth, so I shook hands but said nothing.

This seemed to make them nervous.

We want to thank you folks for making the trip to see us, Older White Guy said trying to appear casual. He hadn't gotten the memo that "folks" went out in the early 90s. Unless you're in American politics.

Young Asian Woman was having none of it. She had received the memo even though she had been in grade school at the time.

Let's cut to the chase. We see a lot of deals. We go forward with very few. Why you? Why this? Why us?

Christian sat imperviously and unmoved. He let a few seconds go by before he answered.

Mrs. Steele has a revolutionary product. Her options to bring it to market, and ultimately bring her company public, will be myriad. I encourage you to think about, why you? Why this firm? Why should she give you ten more seconds of her time after that amateurish remark?

He was playing hardball! And not with his usual choice of balls.

My deeply ingrained sense of silence filling and social niceness was kicking in, but I decided to keep close to his example.

I nodded in what I hoped was a stern way. Middle Aged Indian Guy got up to get me a glass of water, so I may have just looked like I was having a Petit Mal.

But I still hadn't spoken which was very foreboding of me.

Christian's words had the desired effect. The group looked nervously at each other and Young Black Guy broke the silence.

Absolutely fair. Good observations, Mr. Grey. We feel fortunate that you're here with us, and giving us an opportunity to help with initial financing…

Christian cut him off.

Mrs. Steele will be describing her product briefly. She will then allow you two minutes to ask questions. After that, she will allow you five minutes to offer a deal proposal.

Everyone nodded and looked at me.

This was like a live broadcast. I was on!

The Lady Cork is a device…and object…a cork…Sorry I said that already. The Lady Cork is something a woman…a lady…puts somewhere to keep out…I mean to keep someone from getting in to her…

Oh God. This was really hard. I don't care if they were in their underwear. It didn't help. I was panicking. I tried to read their faces but that was too scary.

…So if you want to let's say, go on your daughter's Girl Scout camp-out, but you kind of think that creepy park ranger might try and get up to no good, you'd just put in the Lady Cork…

They all looked mystified. Young Black Guy was tapping on his phone, Older White Guy was looking sadly at me, Middle-aged Indian Guy looked appalled, and Young Asian Woman looked condescending.

Christian looked at me steadily. He seemed to be saying You can do it, with his eyes. If his eyes could talk.

I took a deep breath.

The Lady Cork goes in your lady parts so no man parts or manmade man parts can get in and bug you. That's it in a nutshell. It keeps nuts out of your shell, if you get my drift.

I waited. The group was giving me their full attention. Older White Guy spoke first.

My wife would buy one and so would every woman on her tennis team. And in her book club.

Young Asian Woman spoke next with a newfound reverence.

So damned simple. So damned brilliant. Why didn't I think of it?

Middle Aged Indian Guy was next.

In my province back home, you could sell six million units in the first month! I used to listen to my aunties going on and on about how they would give anything to just keep the men at bay…

Young Black Guy brought it home. He extended his hand.

Mrs. Steele, welcome to the Goldman Sachs family. We would be honored to be a part of this offering. I predict an IPO that will knock investors socks off.

I had been silent too long. I had to speak.

Just as long as it doesn't knock any Lady Corks out!

The room erupted in laughter.

I touched my Lanz pocket square for luck.

I was a Wall Street player. I'd heard them referred to as "ballers" too, but this was the dawn of a new era.

And balls won't be part of it.